


'cause all i have left is my memories of yesterday

by aiineslin



Series: you turn myself to me, and recognise the poison in my heart [2]
Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 20:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15614658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aiineslin/pseuds/aiineslin
Summary: Life would have been better if she was an only child.





	'cause all i have left is my memories of yesterday

**Author's Note:**

> \- beta'ed by the lovely a. <3 thank you baby.  
> \- title taken from the lyrics to portishead - sour times.  
> \- most of this is written from the perspective of young!barbara, with the exception of the last vignette.  
> \- i can be found at thedennings.tumblr.com, feel free to pop by for a chat!

Parents weren’t supposed to have favourites, but that wasn’t about to stop Barbara from trying to become the best-loved.

“You have such pretty fingers,” Mom used to say, rubbing hand cream into Barbara’s palms. “My girl is gonna be a world-famous pianist someday.”

Whenever Dad heard that, he would peek around his newspaper, frowning at Barbara and Mom. “Don’t go spoiling her now. She still needs to do the dishes.”

And here Mom would shake her head, rub the last dollop of cream into Barbara’s hands and rise to her feet. “I’ll do ‘em. Barbs needs to protect her hands.”

Barbara could not quite pinpoint when Mom stopped rubbing cream into her hands, when Mom started asking her to do the dishes and mopping – heavy duties that would allow soap water to seep into her delicate hands and thicken the knuckles into brutal, work-worn slabs of bone.

She kept her peace, until one day, her piano teacher turned to her after class and said, “This will be your last lesson with me, Barbara.”

It wriggled and crawled in her head all through the fifteen-minute walk home, a red-hot squirming worm that walked her feet to the kitchen where Mom was baking a pie.

“Mom,” Barbara had said tentatively, hovering at the doorway. “Mrs Langley said you haven’t paid for my August lessons?”

“Oh!” The woman continued to beat the egg in her bowl, whisk blending the yolks and whites into a yellow slurry. “Well. _Well_ , we needed to spend a little more on Debbie’s gym classes, her coach is ever so expensive, so we had to cut down some extra costs -”

On and on the woman went, citing rising costs and empty pockets and tight budgets, until she lifted her head and realised that her oldest daughter was long gone, having exited quietly to her bedroom.

A few months later, Barbara’s piano was sold to pay for Debbie’s gym classes.

It was no great loss; after all, it was just sitting around unused, covered over with an inch-thick layer of grey dust.

*

Life took a left turn when little Debbie’s talent at gymnastics began to blossom.

Barbara could put up with a lack of attention from Mom; after all, she had her posse of adoring girls and a few boys to heap praise and flattery on her, that was more than enough.

(Bullcrap. Theirs was a fleeting, pale imitation of Mom’s cloyingly sweet love.)

The sudden decision to move to Oklahoma was a deeply unpleasant shock; things were going _well_ , she was the top of her class and Stephen McKinney was dating her – he had the most beautiful smattering of freckles across his straight nose and _every_ girl wanted him.

Barbara took things as she had always done, swallowed her anger into the yawning abyss inside her, but Carol – as always, Carol gave voice to her rage.

She received a terrible beating from Dad, and it was bad enough that Mom had to take her to the doctor and ask for a week of sick leave.

During that week, Barbara had to take Carol’s food and homework to her. The first time Debbie had tried to bring Carol dinner, she received a flying book to the head for her troubles. Carol got another punch to the belly for that, and from then on, Barbara took over dinner duty.

Carol was huddled under her blankets, but when Barbara entered the room, she popped her head up, scowling venomously at Barbara.

“I don’t wanna eat any of that pig slop.”

“Well, you gotta,” said Barbara drily, setting down the tray and its contents on to Carol’s desk. “Y’know how Dad gets when you don’t eat everything up.”

“ _Fuck_ Dad,” hissed Carol, fisting her blanket into tight little bunches. “If he cared, he wouldn’t have done this to me.”

Barbara shrugged, easing herself on to the bed as she did so. “I wanna ask, how long are you gonna throw this tantrum?”

“Till Dad and Mom let us _stay_ here! I don’t want to move to fucking Oklahoma!”

“They’re never gonna do that, and you know it.”

“Bullcrap!” Carol shrieked at Barbara, cheeks flaming blotchy red, spittle flying from her mouth to land on Barbara’s chequered sweater.

“Bull _true,_ ” snarled Barbara, shoving her face into Carol’s. “Life isn’t fair and you best learn it as quick as you can.” Their breath mingled together as older stared down the younger. “Y’know what you _can_ do though? You can take revenge.”

Carol stared at her, a muscle flinching rhythmically in her cheek. “And how d’you do that?”

The grin that crawled across Barbara’s face was a grotesque thing to behold. “I’ll teach you.”

Despite careful packing, Debbie still lost her prized collection of Barbie dolls during the move to Oklahoma. If she ever found a broken little plastic arm under her bed on the first day in Oklahoma, she never mentioned it to Mom and Dad.

*

Rising to the top of the school hierarchy was easy.

People had buttons; you just had to know which to press, and _how_ to press them. There was a specific order to things; humans, Barbara philosophised, were much the same everywhere.

(Every school was the same, every concrete hallway harboured their queen bees, the drones that clung to their sides and the ever-present slouching, mocking jocks. Everyone else was fodder for Barbara to carve up and use in her bid to rise to the top, and use she did.)

Occasionally, her wheelings and dealings brought trouble to her doorstep.

Like today.

Carol had never been one for subtle manipulations.

She was, Barbara not-so-privately opined, better suited to be a boy, to pummel out her grievances and frustrations out in fists and kicks. Unfortunately, Carol was a girl, and girls tended to conduct warfare in much more subtle ways, and this was where Carol’s actions drew derision instead of respect.

An Incident had occurred, where Carol had knocked out another girl’s teeth for calling her a lezzie.

It was so terribly _trying_ , being Carol’s sister.

So she had set up a little meeting with Madeline, the leader of the little group that threatened Carol with reputation-ruining gossip and evil little pranks, around the back of the school.

Madeline had turned up alone without her posse. Barbara strolled up a few moments later, hands in her pockets, humming Billie Jean absent-mindedly.

“Barbara,” Madeline sneered.

“Maddy,” Barbara acknowledged. “I don’t wanna mince words. I hear you’ve been giving Carol a hard time.”

“It’s all her fault for being a lezzie. She shouldn’t have put moves on Emma, and seriously – who the fuck beats up a girl for rejecting them?” Madeline crossed her arms across her chest, lips quirking into a lop-sided sneer as she eyed Barbara up and down. “I don’t even see why this is any of your concern. You don’t even, like, _associate_ with Carol in school cuz you’re too busy sucking dick in the bathrooms.”

A muscle twitched in Barbara’s cheek. Drawing in a deep breath, she returned the once-over, dragging her gaze over the shorter, bulkier girl, head tilted to the side. “You’re an only child, aren’t you?”

“What the fuck does that have to do with you?”

“Mm-hmm, thought so.” Barbara hummed amiably. The right hook came out of nowhere, flashing through the air to knock Madeline to the ground.

Being Carol’s sister had taught Barbara a few tricks.

As Madeline burbled through the broken ruin of her nose, Barbara sauntered over, pressing one sneakered foot into her belly, making her thrash and squirm.

“I’m saying this once, Maddy, and only once. You fuck with Carol again, and I’ll set Tommy and his goons on you.” She increased the pressure marginally, watching the other gasp in response with a clinically amused eye. “You know what they do to people I dislike.”

“You don’t like her,” Madeline sobbed, tears, blood and snot dribbling down her face. “You don’t even fucking like her!”

“No,” agreed Barbara. Her smile was wintery, cold and cheerless. “No. I don’t. That’s not the point, isn’t it?”

*

Sometimes, Barbara wondered idly, how things would have turned out if she placed all the blame on Carol.

She knew she could have pulled that off.

Such thoughts were good exercise for her imagination, and they occupied her often, especially on the trips back and forth from court to juvie. Mom and Dad had chosen not to post bail.

Today was yet another day, yet another bumpy, boring trip in the police van with manacles around her wrists and Carol bitching beside her. To distract herself, Barbara pressed her nose against the cold glass of the police van’s windows, watching the crowd surge around the slow-moving vehicle. There were signs held up. Barbara and Carol’s faces were printed on them, the placards stabbing the winter air angrily as the people holding them chanted, “Murderers! Murderers!”

“Good lord,” said the driver, snapping his gum. “I ain’t seen a crowd so big since, well. Since.”

“Since forever?” Barbara suggested quietly.

“Aye. Since forever. You crazy little girls sure got people heated up, huh?”

Beside her, Carol spat a loogie on to the partition dividing the driver from them. Barbara watched the yellow-green slime slide down the glass, and the tiniest, smallest smile inched its way across her face as she turned back out to the crowd.

She laid a manacled hand on the glass, palm splayed out, and slowly, she extended her middle finger to the roaring crowd.

And finally, Barbara grinned.

*

She had reached the same conclusion as Carol did upon entering prison; it was a place much like a high school.

Make your mark fast and hard, and you were catapulted to the top.

She had the advantage of being a murderer, a famous one at that. She had the advantage of coming in with a partner, another person to watch her back. As a duo, the Dennings were unstoppable; despite their fledgling status, they soon gained a small flock of minions.

When Carol was transferred to C-Block because of that stupid, _stupid_ ice story – God, fucking Carol! – Barbara knew she had to get in good with the current boss. People did not fuck with the Dennings, plural. A single Denning?

She could _feel_ the sharks in D-Block perk up, their noses scenting a potential bloodbath in the water.

Fuck that. The girl went into overdrive, ingratiating herself with the old guard, making herself indispensable through racking up a wide network of contacts and favours. It was an old game, one that she was innately familiar with; after all, humans were the same everywhere.

Still, there were prices to be paid.

After all, this was prison.

“Try it,” said Kelly. Her smile was a graveyard of yellowed and rotten teeth. “It’s good for your health.”

“That’s real fucked up, boss,” giggled Barbara, but her fingers were moving of her own volition, opening the little baggie up and tipping the contents on to the toilet lid. Swiftly chopping it up into a straight line, the girl sucked the powder into her nose in one quick motion, squeezing her eyes shut and staggering back a little. Behind her, Kelly shifted to catch her, clammy hands steadying her.

As the world began to recede away from her – because this was _early days_ after all, when Barbara’s nostrils were not ruined from all the countless little pinches of Oxy and worse – she let her head tilt back, exposing the long, elegant line of her neck to Kelly. She heard the older woman sigh, a long, appreciative gust of warm air that tickled and raised goosebumps on her skin. She felt herself being dragged to the bed, where she was settled against a few piled-up pillows.

“What a doll you are, Barbie darling.”

The first person I kill when I become the new boss, Barbara promised quietly, as Kelly began to pull down her pants, is you.

*

Two weeks after the fateful kickball game, Barbara sent a message to Carol via the book trolley.

They arrived at about the same time, both sisters trailed by their respective bodyguards. Barbara allowed for some posturing on both ends, letting the C- and D-Block girls grimace and growl out some threats at each other before she dismissed her bodyguards with an impatient flick of her hand. Grumbling, Carol had done the same, though she made sure to snap out a, “If those Douche-Block bitches try any funny business, y’know what to do.”

“No-one’s gonna do anything,” called out Barbara as she made her way into the library. “Don’t be so _paranoid_ , you psycho.”

“Fuck you, Barb,” said Carol as she ambled behind Barbara, hands in her pockets.

Their feet took them to the little hide-out behind the shelves automatically. Despite everything that had transpired, it looked much the same, a ransacked mess. They took up positions opposite each other, both eyeing up each other warily before sitting down on the carpeted floor.

Seconds ticked by, and then Carol pulled out a shiv abruptly. It was large and ugly, a tool made for one specific use. For the briefest moment, Barbara’s breath caught in her throat, but Carol’s eyes were unfocused, staring at something or someone beyond her.

“That cunt left her shiv.” She waved it at Barbara. “Who the fuck leaves such a beauty behind, huh? How long did she take to make it?”

 “God, Care,” exhaled Barbara, slouching against the wall.

Carol brandished the shiv at her, eyes wild and red. “I’ll cut her fucking wasteful, traitorous throat with her own fucking shiv, that cunt.”

“That would have been a smidge more intimidating if you weren’t all snotty and gross,” drawled Barbara, beginning to pick at the dirt beneath her fingernails. She cocked her head at Carol, blinking owlishly. “You’re being awfully worked-up about the loss of your prison girlfriend.”

“She wasn’t my fucking girlfriend!”

“Nuh-uh, she wasn’t.” Barbara’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “So all the rumours about the two of you fucking in the closets weren’t true, huh?”

Carol’s lips thinned. “That ain’t any of your business.” She slumped against the wall, anger leaving her abruptly. “Ain’t any point to all of this, yeah? People will always betray you in the end.”

A pause, Barbara lifting her head up from her inspection to squint at Carol. “So you _are_ learning.”

Carol laughed shortly, a crow’s derisive caw. “I fucking knew that a long time ago, Barbie.”

“Mm-hmm.” She slanted a side-ways glance towards Carol. The girl’s face was beginning to scrunch up, patches of blotchy red rising high in her cheeks. As she watched, Carol lifted a fist and swiped at the snot trickling from her nose angrily. Sighing internally, Barbara flicked the dirt from her thumbnail to the floor. “Guess you learnt that around the time when we pushed Debbie into the lake, yeah?”

Carol giggled quietly, watery and stuffy little snorts. “Fuck, yeah, probably around then.”

“The look on her face…” Barbara murmured, and she pitched her voice higher, a parody of a child’s panicked squeal. “Barb! Barb!”

Carol’s giggles grew into full-blown laughter, the girl’s shoulders shaking as she struggled to get her words out. “Fucking hell, did you see the way she screamed when I ran at her with the axe?”

Time passed by quickly then, the minutes sweeping by as the two sisters delved deep into their comforting memories of Debbie’s last moments.

*

Life would have been better if she was an only child.

Barbara was –

In a way, she was glad she had Carol.

It was fun when they made their plans to take out Frieda, when they pulled wool over everybody’s eyes but their own. A visit to the past, as it were, back when Denning and Denning worked together to take down anybody that came their way.

She could never have done that with Debbie. Debbie would have pulled away, disgusted, her little girl’s face pinched in horror.

But what did it matter in the end?

“Stupid bitch,” she heard Carol gurgle, her sister staggering away.

Barbara looked up at the fluorescent lights above her, noting the flickering quality of the whiteness.

She could _feel_ the life leaving her in increments, feel the lifeblood trickling out from the gash in her throat.

Lord, but the light was so -


End file.
